Tree House of Horror: War of the Weirds
by Fionn Whelan
Summary: A "Tree House of Horror" story. R&R. The next ten people to post a review will recieve a check for fifty dollars! Checks will not be honored.


A "Tree House of Terror" episode. Rated "PG-13" just so no-one gives me any guff. I I do not own "The Simpsons", and I ain't making a dime from this (though, if any "Simpsons" writers read this and happen to like, I would gladly accept a highly paid internship).

War of the Weirds.

_In the Earth's orbit…_

"Wretched bipeds! Their crap-bucket village has been causing us grief for fifteen years too many!" growled Kang.

"Yes, let us begin our conquest of this backwater planetoid by destroying the domain of our greatest foes: the Simpsons." Gurgled Kodos in reply.

ATTENTION ALL VESSELS! SET COORDINATES FOR THE CULTURAL WASTELAND KNOWN AS…SPRINGFIELD! Kang said through the intercom.

_Springfield, USA_

It is Friday, late in the afternoon. Homer has called in sick. Of course, he is not, he just wishes to take Halloween off from work. He snuck suspiciously into the garage, looked around, then flipped up the car hood and produced a clear bottle. He opened it, and began to drink. Suddenly, Marge came in.

"Homer, there are half-eaten bags of snacks all over the living room and bed room! And don't think…Hey! What is that?"

"Uh, just some, uh, liquid dealie for…the engine."

He fumbled with the car engine, and poured some of his drink in. He then ran over to the cab, opened the door, and turned on the engine.

"See, doesn't run much sm-OH MY GOD!!!"

The engine had caught fire. Homer hopped in the car.

"ACTUALLYIMFEELINMUCHBETTERSOIMGOINGTOWORKCALLTHE

OFFICESAYTHATIHADADENTISTAPPOINTMENTORSOMETHINKISSKISSBUHBYE!!!" rambled Homer as he started up the engine

He pulled out of the garage and sped away, leaving a thick trail of black smoke. Marge picked up the bottle.

"Lighter-fluid???

Homer's car speeds back within view of garage.

"It's cheeper than beer, and I don't need to give Bart my I.D. when I send him to buy some!"

And he was gone again.

Just then, the aliens were descending upon downtown Springfield. One alien says to another:

"Sorry, but you forgot to mention which political sub-realm this town was located! We began attacking the one in Ill-en-noyze!"

One of the saucers sets down on Homer's car .

The airbag deploys in face.

"D'oh! Grrr…(gets out of car). HEY ASSHOLE! I had the right of way! Don't give me that! I signaled!"

The landing plank descends from the saucer, crushing the remnants of Homer's car.

"DAMNIT!!! And I almost had it paid off…for this…month..."

The aliens descend from the ship.

"AHHH! Space aliens! You want me to take you to my leader right?"

"NO"

"You want to serve man right?"

"NO"

"You want to eradicate humanity, right?"

The alien drew his ray gun.

"Bingo!"

Homer runs off screaming like a woman, dodging ray gun blasts.

He bursts through the door and slammed it behind him.

"MARGE!!! Lock the doors! Shut the windows! Call off my bets on horse number eight! Giant, one-eyed octo-creatures are attacking the city!"

"Homer, after drinking lighter fluid, it's lucky you can see at all! Now go upstairs and I'll ask Ned Flanders if I can borrow his emergency stomach pump…again."

"Why don't you believe me? And what's wrong with the one I built?"

"You didn't build anything! You just stuck a hose to the end of a vacuum!"

Their little spat is interupted the voice of Kent Brockman on the TV.

"Finally something good to report. HELLO, AND WELCOME TO THIS SPECIAL NEWS ANOUNCEMENT. DOZENS OF UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS HAVE APPEARED IN THE SKIES ABOVE SPRINGFIELD. A HALLOWEEN STUNT? I THINK NOT. WE HAVE HEAR LIVE FOOTAGE OF A REAL ALIEN CREATURE JUST GIVEN TO US FROM A LOCAL BIRTHDAY PARTY. AS FAR AS WE CALL TELL, IT IS AUTHENTIC."

Marge and Homer look at the screen. A scene reminescant of the one from "Signs" plays before them.

"THERE YOU HAVE IT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT IS, AS 'REM' WOULD SAY, "THE END…OF THE WORLD, AS WE KNOW IT". Eat yer heart out, Brokaw!"

Homer looks accusingly at Marge.

"Are you ever tired of being wrong?"

"Oh NO! The Children!

"What?" inquires Lisa, as she descends the staircase

Homer was incredulous.

"Why the hell aren't you at school?"

Bart pops up from the couch.

"Another "Snow Day". Or should I say, "Day for Skinner and Krabappel to f-"

Marge cuts him off.

"BART!"

"FORGET about their worries and enjoy a day at the park. Jeez, mom. MIND…GUTTER! (Motions with hand). MIND…GUTTER…"

"Hmmmmm…."

Homer takes charge, in a rare show of forethought and cogniscence of his parental duties.

"OK, we need to get ready. Marge, wake up the old man and you two get to boarding windows and demolishing the staircase! BART! You make a run to the KWICK-E-MART, and get all the essentials: Water, canned food, energy bars, bandages, turkey jerkey, a case of Duff, a couple a' Skittles…you know the drill…

LISA! You get all the canned food, can openers, kitchen knives, water, and drugs into the basement, lock the door, and don't open it except for one of us."

"We don't have any drugs!" snaps Marge.

"No…of…course not…"

"Dad, what are you gonna do?" asks Lisa

"What I do best…sit on my ass and watch TV."

"HOMER!" yells Marge.

"I mean, scan the emergency broadcast for important information…annnnd when Bart gets back, we can have a little "Father-Son" activity…taking inventory of our weapons."

"ALLRIGHT! Jus' like in the movies!"

A few minutes latter, down in the basement. Lisa held little Maggie, who sucked blithely on her pacifier, oblivious to the fact that this could very well be her last day on earth. Marge was in her riot gear from her brief stint as a police officer. Grandpa had his old army hat on. They stood and watched as Homer and Bart went over their weapons.

"12-gauge?"

"Check."

"Short shotgun?"

"Check."

"Hunting rifle?"

"Check."

"22?"

"Check."

"BB gun?"

"Yup."

"Grandpa's glock?"

"You-betchie."

"Marge's police gun?"

"Right here."

"Let's see…tool kit, first aid…water…food…beer…ammo…radio…TV, oh precious TV…Lisa got the butcher's knives…do ya got yer slingshot?"

"Check-eroni".

"Okay, I get the 12-gauge, Marge, you sure you can handle the other shotgun?"

"Sure, I shot one a few times in training."

"Good…good. And you get your pistol, too. Bart, you want the 22?"

"REALLY!"

"Sure! Remember: aim from the shoulder, look down the barrel, squeeze the trigger, don't pull, and ALWAYS shoot first, and ask questions later."

"Gramps, you get the hunting rifle and your old glock, just don't shoot yourself in the foot."

"Hot-diggety-damn!"

"Okay, Marge and Smelly, finish with the windows in the back. Bart, help me board the upper story windows."

Lisa pipes up.

"What about me?"

"Who? Oh right. You watch the baby and monitor the radio. Here, call me on the walkie-talkie if there's something important."

"And to defend myself and my infant sister?"

"Use the BB gun."

"Oh good, I can poke out their many eyes if I pump it enough times!"

"That's the spirit!"

As they begin to walk up the staircase, Homer notices that Bart is very afraid.

"Bart"

"Y-yeah, Dad?"

"Did I ever tell you about the time you were born?"

"Yeah, in detail. They made a whole episode outta it."

"Thank God! That's saves a lot of time."

"You haven't told us about my birth." said Lisa.

"Later sweetie, Daddy's very busy!"

"Grrrr…"

_In the backyard…_

Marge was trying to board up a window.

"Dad, help me with this! I need you to hold this board while I nail…

HEY! What are you doing?"

"I'm surroundin' the house with salt to keep the vampires away!"

"Aliens, grandpa, aliens…"

"AHHH! Where!?"

There is a bright light, and soon two aliens are standing in the yard.

"AHHH! GERMANS!"

HE starts firing wildly with his hunting rifle. One shot hits Snowball IV, another hits the transformer and shorts out the power.

"MAAAH! I'm outta ammo! Reload for me, Tonto!"

Marge takes her police gun and fires rapidly and accurately. One shot hits the tentacle with which one of the aliens was holding it's ray gun. The rest hit the aliens' glass domes, leaving small chips in the glass but otherwise doing no good. The uninjured alien sets his gun to "stun" and knocks Marge unconscious.

"Mwahahaha!" he cackled "Foolish earthling! Prepare to be ingested! Your preservative-laden meat shall give us strength to conquer the remaining family units!

But as the aliens advanced, ready to devour the two Simpsons, their slimy tentacles met with Grampa's line of salt.

"AHHHH! Sodium ions! My cytoplasm is being expelled through my cells' membranes!"

The other looked at him with teary eyes.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Marge comes to, and sees the aliens' bodies melting, bubbling and fizzing, into the salt.

"Salt melts them! Like slugs!"

Remembering the shotgun, she grabs it and blasts their heads into green chunks.

"C'mon, let's hurry up here."

"You though I was some senile old fool putting that salt up! Well I tell you what, you can be senile AND right!"

By nightfall, the house is boarded up and locked. The Simpsons sit in their candlelit living room, listening to the radio. Bart works on turning socks, rock salt, and gun powder into anti-alien bombs, and Lisa and Maggie work on filling balloons with salt water.

The radio bore nothing but grim news.

"Washington has declared a state of emergency…people are urged to stay inside, lock their doors, shut their windows, turn off all lights, and arm themselves. So far, all conventional weapons have proved useless against their spacecraft, and while the individual creatures can be killed, their glass domes make a single lethal shot, without a powerful shot gun or a high-calibre weapon at close range, next to impossible."

Lisa thinks that she has an idea

"BART! We need to get the word out that they are allergic to salt!"

"But how?"

"No one's going anywhere."

The radio goes to static. There is a strange and eerie silence. Then, the pattering of slimy tentacles outside the window.

"Should we put out the lights?"

"They already know we're here. Besides, it's kinda romantic, the candlelight." "Rrrrowww!!!"

Santa's Little Helper is heard screaming and barking.

"Oh no! We forgot to bring in Santa's Little Helper!"

"Yiiiiiiiiiiiii…."

"OH NO!"

"Don't be sad, honey. He died like a brave dog, defending his home."

We see SLH running down the street, tail between his legs. Suddenly, there is a pause in the pattering of tentacles, then a creak.

Marge goes and looks up the stairs.

"Someone forgot to board-up the attic door!"

"Gleep!"

"WHY YOU LITTLE…" growls Homer as he reaches to strangle Bart.

"Everyone into the cellar!"

Homer wakes. He is on the cellar floor. Gramdpa is snoring peacefully. Maggie plays with her alphabet blocks, and Lisa and Marge sit, knees held against their chests listened to the radio.

"They left shortly before dawn." says Marge in a hushed voice, "Just flew away. Something about a weakness…"

"KENT BROCKMAN HERE SWEET VICTORY! THE ALIENS HAVE LEFT, AND MANKIND HAS WON! THE TIDE TURNED AROUND FOUR A.M., WHEN AN EMPLOYEE AT A TV STATION WAS CORNERED BY SEVERAL ALIENS. HE THROUGH SOME SALTED PRETZELS AT THEM, AND THEIR SKIN BURNED OFF. BUT THAT WAS THE BEGINNING. IN THE FIGHT, HE HAD PRESSED A BUTTON BROADCASTING AN OLD EPISODE OF "AMERICAN IDOL", THE ONE FEATURING THE NOW-INFAMOUS WILLIAM "SHEBANGS" HUNG. ANY AND ALL ALIENS SEEING THE HORRIFIC FOOTAGE SUFFERED BRAIN HEMORAGES. THEIR SHIPS BEGAN TO DROP FROM THE SKIES AS THEIR CREWS WENT POSITIVELY INSANE. THE FEW SHIPS THAT WERE ABLE TO GET WIND OF WHAT WAS GOING ON LEFT BEFORE THEY COULD EXPERIENCE THE PAIN KNOWN AS "HUNG". THEY ENCOUNTERED SOMETHING ALMOST AS LETHAL SEVERAL LIGHT YEARS AWAY FROM EARTH, HOWEVER: OLD BROADCASTS OF "I LOVE LUCY". CLEANUP IS STILL UNDERWAY, AND SOLDIERS AND LOCAL MILITIAS ARE STILL BUSY SEARCHING FOR THE FEW STRAGGLING EXTRA TERESTRIALS LEFT…

"Woohoo! We won! USA! USA!"

Back upstair, Marge worked on cleaning up the house while Homer sat and watched TV.

"Stupid news. Where's "Bonanza"? Haven't we all heard enough of the stupid aliens?"

As Homer watches TV, he notices the reflection of an alien. He turns and sees little Maggie, an alien holding her menacingly in it's tentacles. Marge comes in and screams. She looks, and sees salty snack foods lying all over the floor. Potato chips, pretzels, pork rinds, and a can of peanuts labeled "only salt has more salt!" She looks at the wall and sees Homer's putter from "The Class Wars of Springfield".

"Homer…swing away…"

"Wha?"

"Swing…AWAY…"

"Marge, please, a vicious alien has our baby!"

"Oh fer the lova…take the putter and hit crap at him!"

Homer understood. Chips, pretzels, pork rinds, assorted nuts, and saltine crackers go flying at the alien.

ALIEN: "ARGH! Poisonous junk foodstuffs!"

The alien drops Maggie. Marge rushes in under Homer's swings and snatches her up. Homer and the alien square off. The alien clicks and gurgles. Homer tries to knock the canister of peanuts at him, but the nuts go flying and hit the VCR. The episode of "American Idol", featuring William Hung, comes on.

"She BANGS, she BANGS! Oh Baby! When she MOOOVES, She MOVES…"

"Ack!!! My Brain! Ahhh!!! Gouge out my eye!!!"

The alien's glass dome shatters and blood trickles from the corner of it's eye. It staggers backwards and into a cabinet. The can of super-salty nuts pours onto his face.

"I'm liquefying, LIQUEFYING!!! Oh what a solar system! To think that a bipedal watcher of televised sporting events could defeat evolutionary perfection millennia in the making! Ooohhh…"

Kang and Kodos are seen watching the Earth as their saucer and a few others fly further and further into space.

"Well, Kang, they won."

"They won this time, dear sibling, but one day, we shall return. By then, they shall all be lazy, obese, and educated by poorly funded schools managed by improperly-screened sax-offeneders and ex-hippies. They shall be too fat to stand on their own and will entirely at our mercy."

"Mwahhaahahh…HAHAHAHhaahhaahahaha…HAHAHAHAHA!!!"

We see the alien give it's last breathes in the relective TV screen. The broken putter lies on the ground. Homer and the family kneel on the grass, and Homer looks up at the sky.

"It all was for a reason: my love of salty snacks…my slovenliness…the reflectiveness of TV screens…my love of TV…

Camera dollies back.

The End?

Characters Copyright Matt Groening et al. Story Copyright Fionn Whelan, December 16, 2004


End file.
